


as though nothing could fall

by Emmar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 14:48:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3072080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmar/pseuds/Emmar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Magical inheritances are tricky things.</p>
<p>
  <i>“There used to be a royal family. A proper magical one, gave Gryffindor the land to build Hogwarts on. But they all died not long after the school was opened, history says. Guess there was a squib after all.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	as though nothing could fall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [punkrockbadger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkrockbadger/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Royal](https://archiveofourown.org/works/375683) by [Batsutousai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsutousai/pseuds/Batsutousai). 



> An idea I've had floating around for a while. Not sure if there's going to be more or not; it's an awkward little thing as it is.

“Oh! Magical inheritances…”

Harry and Ron share a long look over the top of Hermione’s head, and a quick game of rock-paper-scissors later Ron says, “What’s that, Mione?”  
“Magical inheritances!” she says, eyes alight. “It says here that to claim any inheritances you might have, all you need to do is declare it.”  
“What,” Harry says, “so I just say, _I, Harry James Potter, do hereby claim any inheritances_ \--”

“Apparently, yes,” says Hermione faintly, when they’ve blinked the stars out of their eyes, staring down at the three rings now on the library table in front of Harry.  
“Brilliant,” breathes Ron, leaning over to look at them. “Look, there’s the Black ring - Sirius must have made you his proper heir, Harry - and the Potter one, obviously, and-- _Merlin_ , Harry, that’s the Slytherin crest!”

Harry picks the three rings up and turns them over in his shaking hands. “Oh,” he says, quietly, and puts the Potter ring on. Nothing happens.

“Well,” says Hermione, “I suppose if they’re not yours you wouldn’t be able to wear them.”  
“Or touch them, really,” says Ron, “depending on the family, you know. The Potter one’s probably safe to touch if you’re not in the family, but the Black one--”  
“Yeah,” mutters Harry, sliding the Black ring onto a different finger, and then staring hard at the Slytherin ring. “But why have I got _this_ one? I’m sure I’m not actually related to Slytherin…”  
“I think,” Hermione says slowly, in the tone she uses when she’s puzzling through things out loud, “that it might be yours by conquest.”  
“What?”  
“You could win titles by right of conquest, back when England was several smaller kingdoms. I don’t imagine the wizarding world has much changed that.”  
“Blimey,” says Ron. “Hey, Mione, you should try it!”  
“Don’t be ridiculous, Ron,” she mutters, transfiguring a spare coin into a chain, which she hands to Harry. “For the rings,” she explains, “because I assume you don’t really want to be wearing all three at once. And I think it ought to be traditionally worn on the right ring finger, so you can really only wear one at a time anyway. And anyway, Ron, I’m a muggleborn, there’s no chance I’m going to have anything.”  
“Well, neither am I,” he says with a shrug, “but who knows? Maybe you’re descended from a squib from a really rich family or something.”

Hermione just raises her eyebrows, but Ron is undeterred. It’s a long five minutes of pleading, and when Harry joins in, Hermione throws up her hands and says, “Fine! Fine. But you’re going to be disappointed. _I, Hermione Jean Granger, do hereby claim any inheritances_ \--”

“What was that about being disappointed, Mione?” Harry says, grinning down at the circlet.  
“Oh my,” she murmurs, and picks it up carefully. “Ron?”

Ron is staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed, all colour gone from his face.

“Ron?” says Harry.  
“That’s-- Oh, Merlin, this is really going to put the kneazle among the pigeons.”  
“Any time you wanted to start making sense,” Hermione says, and Ron shakes his head.  
“There used to be a royal family,” he says after a moment. “A proper magical one, gave Gryffindor the land to build Hogwarts on. But they all died not long after the school was opened, history says. Guess there was a squib after all.”

Hermione looks again at the circlet and swallows hard. “Oh,” she says. “Yes, that would certainly explain why it’s a circlet and not a ring. I suppose there should be some sort of coronation, rather than me just putting it on…”  
“Here,” says Harry, holding his hands out, and Hermione places the circlet in them without thinking. “Right. Uh, I, Harry James, Lord Potter, Lord Black, Lord Slytherin, do hereby crown you, uh, Queen Hermione.”

Apparently that’s good enough for the magic, because the whole thing flashes as he puts it on her bowed head.

Hermione looks at Ron from under her eyelashes for a moment and then says, “You’ll be my seneschal, won’t you, Ron?”

Ron blushes all the way down to his collarbones and mutters, “You don’t have to make me feel better, Mione--”  
“No, I mean it. I can’t think of anyone better suited. I’d make you my Knight Commander, you know, but Harry’s already filling that position.”  
“I am?” Harry asks faintly.  
“You are,” she says firmly, then turns her gaze on Ron. “Well?”  
“I-- Of course, Your Majesty,” he says seriously, and then smiles brightly. “And, uh, first suggestion, maybe not spread this around?”  
“Probably best,” Harry agrees, still looking a little stunned.

“Ah,” says the Headmaster, turning a corner into their aisle, “Harry, my boy, just who I was looking for.”  
“I think you mean Lord Black,” Ron says lightly, and Harry scowls at him.  
“Slytherin,” Hermione corrects, without looking up from her book.  
“ _Potter_ ,” Harry says firmly, scowling equally darkly at the both of them, and ignoring Dumbledore entirely. Hermione hides a smile behind her quill at the Headmaster’s bewildered, slightly panicked expression.

“Mr Potter,” he says finally, addressing Harry with at least a portion of the respect he deserves, and Harry finally looks up.  
“Yes, Headmaster?”  
“Could I speak with you, a moment?”  
“Is it about schoolwork, sir?”  
“It is not, my boy--”  
“Then I’m sorry, sir, but I really have to catch up on what I missed over the summer.”

Harry’s face is the picture of innocence, and for once Dumbledore seems to realise his authority doesn’t stretch this far, and he sighs quietly.

“Of course, Mr Potter. I shall leave you and your companions to it, then.”  
“Thank you, sir.”

When Dumbledore is out of earshot, Harry sighs explosively and puts his head down on the table. Hermione can’t help her quiet laugh as she leans over and puts her hand on the back of his neck.

“Feel better?”  
“I kind of do,” he admits quietly, and Ron looks thoughtful.  
“Ron?” Hermione prompts, but he shakes his head.  
“It’ll come to me when it’s important,” he says, and grins at the pair of them. “Can’t believe old Dumbledore let you get away with that, though.”  
“Oh, I think he thinks he’s won,” Hermione says.  
“That sigh did seem _awfully_ disappointed, didn’t it?” Harry asks, propping his chin on his hand and smiling faintly. “He’s good at guilt trips, but I like to think I’ve got a bit more backbone than I did this time last year.”  
“He’s very used to people doing as he asks because it’s him asking,” Hermione agrees, tapping the end of her quill against her lips.  
“And what happened to keeping this to ourselves, anyway?” Harry says suddenly, and Ron grins.  
“Said we should keep _Mione’s_ thing secret, mate, not yours.”  
“Fight later,” Hermione says, as Harry opens his mouth to respond. “Honestly. _Boys_.”

That’s the last they speak of it that day; Hermione tilts her chin up and straightens her back and very firmly moves the subject onto the transfiguration homework the boys were supposed to be doing in the first place. Hermione almost forgets about it, in fact, once she’s disillusioned the circlet.

Of course, it all goes to shit the next morning, and Hermione can’t quite suppress a sigh when she sees the _Daily Prophet_ ’s headline: _ANCIENT ROYAL CIRCLET DISAPPEARS FROM GRINGOTTS, CULPRIT UNKNOWN_

“Flippin’ heck,” mutters Neville. “Maybe someone’s claimed it.”  
“Could be,” says Ron, around a mouthful of eggs.  
“Like who?”  
“God, imagine Malfoy,” Harry says from her other side, grinning. “Think I’d bugger off to France, don’t you?”  
“Oh, honestly,” says Hermione, one hand going up to touch the still-disillusioned circlet sitting on her curls, “the likelihood of it being a Hogwarts student is miniscule.”  
“Maybe it’s you, Hermione,” Neville suggests, and Hermione forces a laugh.  
“A black muggleborn? I think all of Slytherin house would secede,” she says, and Ron chokes on his pumpkin juice and just about covers his laughter with a coughing fit.  
“I dunno,” says Harry lightly, “I think you’d do alright.”

Hermione kicks him under the table.


End file.
